


Just like the movies

by kittymannequin



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Past Relationship(s), Post-Break Up, Second Chances, Starting Over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 09:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14186238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittymannequin/pseuds/kittymannequin
Summary: Heavily inspired by Ed Sheeran because at some point of my life I was a slut for his music. Also because apparently "second chances" is a trope I really love putting Clarke and Lexa through.





	Just like the movies

It’s been a month when you see her again.

You’re walking down the street with your head low and your earphones in, music softly playing as you make your way home, strolling slowly down the familiar road. 

You spot her across the street, she’s got that old leather jacket on and her hair’s up in a messy bun you love so much, eyes sparkling. Maybe just a little less than before, you think. 

And she’s holding some guy’s hand in her own. 

You’d be lying if you said your heart doesn’t stutter when you notice that. Or the way she seems to light up at something he leans in to whisper in her ear right before she throws her head back in loud, boisterous laughter.

God you miss her laugh. 

You miss the way her eyes would crinkle just seconds before the corners of her lips would twitch and she’d throw her head back, unable and unwilling to keep it in. 

She always did laugh loud and free and you loved it to your very core. 

You still do. So much.

They walk inside a coffee shop and you have to fight every fibre of your being to not just cross the road and walk in right after them. To follow after her, to see smile more, hear her laugh, just.. Just watch her for a little while longer. 

Just one more time.

* * *

 

Another night, another wasted evening of nothing but alcohol and loud music, girls that could never compare to her and people you never even wanted to be around in the first place. Yet, you’re here, sitting in the far corner, nursing what you think is your fifth bottle of beer and somewhere in the back of your mind Anya’s voice echoes louder than the music and your drowning thoughts.

_ “Just don’t drink yourself under the table again, please.”  _

You can’t help it, really, not when it’s the only thing that seems to make you forget about the colour blue long enough to function normally. Well, as normally as you can function while you’re drunk. 

It’s not much, really. A couple of hours until she invades your mind again and your thoughts are filled with her lips, her eyes, her fingertips. Sometimes it feels too real, sometimes you wonder if your mind is just torturing you on purpose when you hear the sound of her voice and you turn around only to find no one there. Or when you think you can still feel her trace her nails down your spine and her breath drag across the fine skin at the back of your neck.

But she’s not here and you are and you remember seeing her a couple of weeks ago and god-

“Lexa? Shit Linc, it’s Lexa.” 

The voice is familiar, that much you can tell, but your vision’s blurry, you’re pretty sure there were at least four shots of tequila in between those beers and if you try and focus on where the voice is coming from, your world just starts to spin. So you lean back instead, throw your head back against the cushioned wall and you wait.

You don’t know what for. Maybe if you wait long enough, time will pass and you’ll grow old and die and you won’t be haunted by the mistakes you made, by the words she said and the way your heart still clenches at the thought of her. Maybe if you wait long enough she’ll call you up and tell you she still loves you too.

“Lexa?” Lincoln’s voice you’d recognize even in your most drunken stupor - which is pretty much now - and you will your eyes to open, blinking a couple of times to try and focus on the right direction. “Lexa can you hear me?” He speaks up again, louder this time, and you feel a tiny gust of wind from your side, a little cushion of air move your way before a large arm paws at your leg and Lincoln’s familiar scent wafts over.

For a moment, you feel sick. Tequila’s never been your drink but it makes you forget and that’s exactly what you want. 

“Come on, let’s get you out of here.” 

You don’t hear much after that, not really. The last thing you remember seeing is a blur of lights, then darkness followed by a couple of random flashes of light, the ice in her eyes when she said ‘ _ i can’t do this anymore’  _ and after that, numbness. 

Pleasant, welcome numbness.

* * *

 

_ It takes as long as it takes,  _ you remember telling her once. 

A summer’s day, late afternoon, warm and so lazy that you barely managed to drag yourselves out of bed long enough to make some food. You had a tendency of forgetting about sustenance in her presence. Something about feeling more alive just by being around her invigorating company and yet, you’d often feel breathless around her.

The coffee maker was taking a bit longer than she’d thought it would and you don’t think you’ll ever not remember the way she was leaning against the counter, pouting and huffing with her arms crossed over her chest, clad in nothing but your light blue button-up and a pair of old panties with little ladybugs on them.

It was a scene like none you ever thought you’d experience and everything you never knew you’d crave so desperately. 

Clarke always did have a way of leaving you without breath.

It takes a little over eight months for you to realize that life shouldn’t be just about surviving and that there’s a time to grieve, a time to wish you’d done things differently and a time to move on. 

Some things you can never get back, some people will stay with you always and sometimes life has a way of surprising you even when you think you’ve got it all figured out.

So when you bump into her on your way out of the coffee shop that you’ve been hanging at regularly for the past couple of months, you’re as unprepared as you’ve ever been. You really don’t see it coming, not when you’ve been telling yourself that you need to make peace with the fact that you two had your chance and it just didn’t work out.

You know she’s just as unprepared when she stutters and drops her purse and spends a good minute apologizing for bumping into you until she finally looks up and your eyes meet and you realize that sometimes - sometimes life can be just like the movies and maybe you get to try again.

Because she smiles at you, really genuinely smiles, and her eyes crinkle in the cutest way when she pushes her now shorter hair behind her ear and that stubborn few strands still frame her face. 

You barely stop yourself from reaching out and tucking them away for her. 

“Lexa, hi.” She says, her eyes never leaving yours. 

“Clarke.” You simply say, grunting when someone pushes past you, grumbling something about the two of you being in the way. You throw a glare after them, not even bothering to apologize, and when you turn back to look at her it’s like no time has passed.

She stares for a moment longer before bursting into a laugh, one you’d recognize anywhere, doubling over as she sidesteps, clearly making a few passersby stare at her with an odd expression. 

“Still as grumpy.” She murmurs when she catches her breath again.

“Always.” You say, fingers itching to just reach out and brush softly against her cheeks. 

“What are you doing here?” 

As you both move further aside, relinquishing the coffee shop entrance of your presence, you shift slightly in your newfound spot, quickly tucking your hands inside your pockets, lest you do something you really,  _ really _ shouldn’t. 

“I’ve been coming here a lot lately. It’s nice. Homey.” 

“Homey.” She says it at the same time as you and you both smirk at that, both glancing away. 

“Yeah.” You add when your eyes settle on hers again. “You?” 

“It’s uh, it’s close to my new apartment. And my studio.” 

“Oh.” 

She moved. 

The words seem to set off an alarm in your mind and you can already see her waking up next to that guy you saw her holding hands with months ago and now you really wish you’d picked some other stupid coffee shop to sulk at every day. 

“The old place had a bit too many memories.” Clarke adds and it tugs at your heart. “Besides, this one’s super cheap. And convenient.” 

“Yeah?” You don’t really manage to ask anything else, or want to. You don’t know why you’re even still standing there, in all honesty. You knew she’d moved on. 

You knew it months ago.

Still, you find yourself speaking up again, for reasons you can’t even fathom yourself.

“So you’re settling in alright then?” 

She seems to perk up at that, eyes lighting up with that same old spark you remember so well, especially from late nights when she’d just get up in the middle of the night and walk over to her easel, eager, and just pull lines upon lines over the empty canvas.

“Yeah, I mean, I got myself a cat so I’m not alone all the time and god, you know me and animals, it’s a madhouse over ther-”

“You live alone?” The words slip out before you can stop them.

She blinks at you. 

“Yes.” A beat passes. “Me and Mr.Jackon.” 

Maybe this is still a movie moment. Maybe you just got it all wrong. 

“Just the two of you?” 

She catches on, you know she does. She’s always had that street smart, on top of her brilliant mind that could conjure the most amazing ideas. 

“Who else?” She says, more than asks.

“You named your cat Mr.Jackson?” 

She grins at you, that familiar little smirk that tugs at the corners of her lips just as much as it tugs on your heart.

“That’s adorable.” You really should stop that blabbering mouth of yours. 

She seems to pull back at that, just slightly, until she fumbles through her pocket and pulls out her phone, clicks on the screen before shutting it off again and slipping it back inside. 

“You wanna grab a coffee with me?” 

“Yeah.” You mumble even before the words register properly. “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

“It’s really great to see you again, y’know?” She murmurs as you make your way back inside the coffee shop, much to the barista’s confusion. 

You just smile in return because it really,  _ really  _ is. 

And maybe it’s not exactly like the movies. Maybe you don’t click again and this is the last time you’ll truly see her.

But something tells you otherwise. Something much deeper, something that’s been there, buried and hidden for as long as she’s been in your heart. 

 

Hope.


End file.
